Ha Long Bay is one of the most-well known attractions in Vietnam. Ringed by endless karst peaks, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is packed by visitors, all of whom admire the turquoise waters and the emerald spires that continue on to the horizon. The easiest way to arrive is to travel to Hanoi. From there, countless tour companies offer cruises lasting from a few hours to a few nights. Naturally, the level of debauchery can increase with the amount of time spend aboard the cruise. Independent travelers can hire a boat or make the trek out to Cat Ba island for a more tranquil experience, but the majority of those seeing Ha Long Bay, do so from the deck of a multi-story cruise ship.
I chose to go with the simpler option, in booking a cruise through my hostel in Hanoi. There were two options – laid back, and party. I was looking a more social atmosphere and selected the party cruise. We were to depart the following morning. As the next day arrived, those of us going on the cruise packed into a shuttle and departed for Ha Long Bay. The ride took a little over two hours and administrators checked everyone in for their respective boats. That’s when the first sign of trouble occurred.
For those on my boat, thirty or so, ours was not yet in the harbor by the time everyone else had already boarded. Certain ideas were floated such as refunding the cost and applying it to a new boat, paying a dockhand to float us out for the day, or even skipping the cruise entirely and somehow finding transit to Cat Ba. This is in addition to the air conditioning breaking in the reception area, as summer in Vietnam meant unbearable heat and humidity for those of us from cooler climates. Finally, after much despair, tears, sweat, and sunburn, the boat arrived. Backpacks over drenched colored tank tops, we boarded, about to embark on a potentially calamitous adventure.
The cruise had a basic setup – triple occupancy in rooms the size of a closet with little room to even stand up let alone store luggage. However, the very nature of the “social” experience was to spend as little time in the room as possible and more time spent taking in…the sights. Those in charge of the trip started off by serving the most Vietnamese meal possible – eggs, rice, and ham. Clearly, the money paid for the trip did not go towards cuisine. Or comfort in accommodation. Beer wasn’t even included in the cost. So what were we paying for then?
Fast forward to post-lunch, as the group branches off into pairs for kayaking. Running on the buddy system, two people per kayak were to head off towards a series of coves to get a close-up view of the karst buildup. I joined up with a John, an Englishman from London. Naturally, a few of us brought up the idea of racing to the cove. This was to become a herculean effort, as also on the boat were 4 members of New Zealand’s Olympic Crewe team. They missed qualifying for the Olympics so instead of packing their bags home, they took off for Vietnam. It’s only reasonable. They destroyed the rest of us in arriving at the cove without breaking a sweat. Men against boys, literally.
After looping to the cove and further sunburning whatever areas of skin were uncovered, the crew arrived back to the boat. We all took turns jumping off the deck on the upper level, with flips, dives, flails, cannonballs, and sprawls aplenty. The warm crystalline water combined with an azure sky and comfortable heat provided for moments of endless bliss. Life was pretty good at that time. The group banded together to talk about travels and swap stories over Tiger beers. From all walks of life – Kiwis, Americans, Brits, French, German, and Dutch-Indonesian – we were all able to create nicknames and play games. Due to my perpetual farmers tan (despite wearing tank tops), I was given the nickname T-shirt. Not exactly flattering, but because names are tough and a spread of countries meant that made-up naming was the quickest way to build camaraderie. Then, the monsoon happened.
In Southeast Asia, the monsoon season starts in May and goes until August. This doesn’t mean that it rains all day; rather, in short bursts, if at all. When one is in a city or village, escaping the rains is simple. On a boat in open water, this is slightly more difficult. The rains began after the sun had gone down. As we had all been through a monsoon, no one was worried. But the rain didn’t last fifteen minutes. It didn’t stop after an hour. The Kiwis thought to make the most of the situation and went streaking in the rain on the top deck. BOOM! The winds pick up and howl, lightning illuminates the water and a loud thunder clap echoes through the boat. It begins to rock back and forth, the hull keeping all but the choppiest waves at bay. CRASH! The front door shatters and the side windows follow suit. Glass fills the floor of the cabin as rain sweeps in through the fist-sized holes in the side. At this point in the night, most of the cruise-goers were nonplussed by the storm, due to several hours of imbibing. Floors soaked? No problem. Is the beer safe? The storm raged on for hours, before the majority of people were sick of the noise. People retired to bed, unconcerned if the bed would float should water levels rise. Looking back on it, with no backup, capsizing or evacuation actually may have happened.
The following morning, we went to survey the damage. The glass from the storm doors was completely shattered and lay in pieces on the wood. Few windows were left standing and the tan varnish looked like mahogany. To try and distract the hungover masses, the crew served yet another as traditional Vietnamese breakfast – rice and eggs – and attempted to teach the cruise-goers how to make spring rolls. After the cook’s perfect roll, the rest of the attempts look like squashed burritos. The combination of post-storm displeasure, mass motion sickness, and a lack of ibuprofen turned any aspirations into defeated dreams. Deferred to a more stable state of mind, perhaps.
After breakfast, we set back off towards shore. Of course, the shuttle to return to Hanoi hadn’t arrived yet. Another hour was spent killing time until transportation had come. I was packed onto the wheel well for the two hour commute, which, for someone with long legs, was akin to torture under the Geneva Convention. At the end of the day, we had bested the storm, with wallets a little lighter and clothing a little wetter. At least this time, it wasn’t purely sweat. As the transit dropped us off near each hostel, I stopped into a market to ponder my luck and the previous day. The smell of noodles and chili sauce overwhelmed my sinuses. A proper Vietnamese meal – neither eggs, nor ham.
Dispatches by Alec 